


you can't unmake ( me )

by editorwilbur



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Karlnapity, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Shapeshifting, occasional themes and subjects consistent with the exile arc, wilbur is brought back to life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-11 10:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28470033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/editorwilbur/pseuds/editorwilbur
Summary: "Wonder what you're gonna call yourself." Dream pulls the beanie a little farther down over Wilbur's ear. "You're not a ghost anymore. You're certainly not the man you used to be. I think Alivebur would be fitting for you, but you've used that one up." He laughs once, barely, and stands up. "Well, good luck. You'll need it."
Relationships: Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Technoblade & Phil Watson, Technoblade & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 42
Kudos: 277





	1. betrayed

**Author's Note:**

> title from loki by the mechanisms, and very _very_ vaguely inspired by the album that's from
> 
> diverges from canon in late december. things to note coming in  
> -tubbo thinks tommy is dead  
> -phil has been broken out of l'manburg and is chilling in the arctic. i forget when this happened in canon  
> -this is a maskless dream design safe space so feel free to imagine him however you want! no mask will ever be referenced. go wild  
> -phil does not have wings F  
> -phil is wilbur's bio dad & tommy's adopted dad, however there is no c!phil slander here. techno is family but not in the blood sense & there's no specific older-younger dynamic with him  
> -other info canon to this fic shall be revealed as we go!!

Wilbur's unconscious body lands in the snow with a loud _thump_. 

Dream stares down at it for a long, long moment, and ponders the decisions he's made over the past twenty-four hours.

The body at his feet is flesh-toned, breathing, and very much alive, a stark contrast to the Wilbur everyone had known for the past month and a half. His cheeks are even slightly pink. 

Dream's unceremonious drop hadn't awoken Wilbur. He lies on his side, bundled up in winter boots, insulated pants, two long-sleeve shirts underneath his signature yellow sweater, a thick scarf, and that damned beanie from his exile. He certainly wouldn't die out here, maybe just wake up a little cold. Not the end of the world. Certainly not anything that would undo all of Dream's hard work.

Dream squats down and gently lifts Wilbur's head, positioning the scarf underneath so that it protected all of Wilbur's exposed skin from the snow. The handcrafted item had been a gift from Sapnap ages ago, one that Dream no longer had any personal use for, one that had just been gathering dust in a chest for years. It'll be better used to keep Wilbur warm.

"Wonder what you're gonna call yourself." Dream pulls the beanie a little farther down over Wilbur's ear. "You're not a ghost anymore. You're certainly not the man you used to be. I think Alivebur would be fitting for you, but you've used that one up." He laughs once, barely, and stands up. "Well, good luck. You'll need it." He nudges his foot against one of Wilbur's hands for good measure.

There's still silence, still unconsciousness, still nothing but breathing from the man on the ground. He looks so heavy, so alive. It's strange. 

Dream carefully takes out and unfolds his elytra, the fragile wings glinting with enchantment. It takes him a moment to get all the straps situated. It's not an item he's used to using, doubly so when he can't let anyone see him. A single firework blast, and then he's off into the night sky, leaving a single trail of footprints and the slightest bit of ash as the only signs anyone else has ever been there.

* * *

Tommy and Phil are awoken by the loud ringing of the bell in the attic. 

Dawn is just breaking over the snow-covered hills, warm daylight streaming in through the windows. Phil sits up, easily wide awake, eyes tuned to the ceiling.

"What the fuck." Tommy grumbles lowly, eyes still closed. 

"Gimme a sec." Phil pushes off his covers and stands, giving himself a moment to stretch and yawn before climbing up the ladder and pushes open the trapdoor.

Techno is standing there, fully in his anthropomorphic pig form, ringing the bell. It's at a slower pace than normal, only once or twice a second, but it's still far more than Phil wants to be hearing at this time in the morning. 

"Dude."

"Morning." Techno does not stop.

"Techno. It's dawn." Phil's voice keeps his characteristic light almost-laughter, even at the annoying scene. 

"The bell waits for no one."

"Christ. Okay." 

"Alright. Alright." Techno stops the ringing and finally looks at Phil. "Did I wake you two up?"

"Yes. I don't think Tommy's very happy."

"I am not happy." Tommy's voice floats up through the open trapdoor. "I have never been unhappier."

Techno blinks twice. "That is a lie."

"I know, but let him have his fun." Phil is smiling wide. "Have you slept?"

"No, no. You know me."

"I do. C'mon down." Phil's voice is gentle. "You can get a couple hours in before the day really starts."

Techno sighs. "I guess so." His eyes aren't quite focusing, though it's unclear to Phil whether or not it's because he's not wearing his glasses.

"Anything wrong? That you wanna talk about, I mean."

"Not yet."

"Then come on down and rest."

Phil waits until he sees Techno moving towards him to hop off the ladder onto the floor below. Tommy is still burrowed under the covers on his bed, only his eyes and hair peeking out. The bags under his eyes that he'd acquired from his time in exile haven't entirely faded. He needs his sleep.

Techno's thump to the floor is loud, and Tommy groans. "Why were you doing that."

"The bell waits for no one."

"I heard you say that already."

"It still rings true."

Phil laughs. Tommy groans and pulls his comforter over his head.

Techno essentially falls onto his bed, not even bothering with his covers. The words that follow are muffled by the fact his face is smushed into his pillow. "Going to join us, Phil?"

"Uh, no, I'm fully up, unfortunately." The sound of the bell had given Phil just enough adrenaline to keep him awake and ready for action. "I think I'm gonna sit outside and enjoy the sunrise since I'm here for it."

"Have fun." Techno appears to be committing to his bit.

"I am going back to sleep." Tommy announces.

"Good. You need it." With those words, Phil slips out the front door.

The morning is still and beautiful. The sun hasn't yet risen enough to make the snow unbearably bright. There's barely any wind, a nice respite from the storm that had raged the day before. It hadn't brought a ton of snow, mostly wind, and it'd been easy to clear out all the important areas around the cottage. 

Phil surveys the surroundings, doing his best to tamp down the hardcore instincts that always ran in the back of his mind. He's safe here. He can always step back inside in seconds. He's safe. He's home. He's taking in the beauty of the morning, the calm, the- what's that.

There's a disruption in the evenness of the snow, off near the forest, just barely visible with the glint on the snow. Phil squints, trying to make out what it could be. It looks like footsteps, but he's a bit too far away to be sure. He can account for every other disturbance but this one.

Damn his instincts.

Phil steps back inside. Even though he'd only been gone for a few moments, he can already hear the muffled snorts that indicate Techno is sleeping, still in the same face-down position. 

Tommy's eyes are still open, and he watches as Phil pulls on his boots. "Cold?"

"Kind of." Phil grabs his sword. "I gotta check something out."

"Can I come with?" Tommy's voice is half-full of sleepiness.

"It won't be very interesting. Mostly just doing it to comfort myself. You'd be bored."

"Oh, I just hate being bored."

"Thought so." Phil situates his hat onto his head and smiles. "Have a good sleep."

"Have a good check."

Phil chuckles, and then once again slips out the door. This time, he heads down the steps and out into the snow. It crunches under his feet. He lets himself be on high alert, even though it's too bright for any mobs to surprise him.

As he approaches, he learns his initial thought was right. Those are footprints, and they lead from the direction of the nether portal into the trees. They look heavy, as though whoever made them was greatly weighed down, and there's only one set. Whoever or whatever made them had to still be there.

He keeps his hand on the hilt of his sword and follows them.

The trees aren't very dense. Phil can see every twist and turn, everything that lies ahead. After several minutes of walking, the footsteps take a sharp right turn into a thicker section of trees. He slows his pace, letting his gaze fall upon the end up the trail.

There's a body in the snow, and it is wearing a familiar gold sweater.


	2. flashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi this chapter is really nice to tommy he's a good kid

Techno awakens to Phil shaking him roughly. 

There's a very, very rare urgency in Phil's eyes. Techno has only ever seen Phil like this twice, and neither times were events he'd like to repeat.

"What? What's wrong?" Techno grabs Phil's wrist, because even though he's wide awake, Phil won't stop shaking him. "Phil, what's wrong?"

"There's a body in the snow." Phil is shaking, and scared, and he speaks in a way that Techno has only ever heard twice before. "There's a body in the snow and it's wearing Wilbur's sweater. I didn't get close enough to see who it was."

It only takes seconds for Techno to get out of bed. During that motion and the ones that follow as he retrieves his armor and weapons, he shifts into his human form, long pink hair tumbling down his back, smaller versions of his tusks still poking out of his lips. Like this, he is beautiful and intimidating. This is the form that makes people turn and run. 

Behind him, he can hear Phil doing similar actions, pulling on armor and kitting himself out with potions.

"What's going on?" Tommy is sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. "It's still so early, fuckin 'ell."

"Stay here, Tommy." Phil's hands are shaking.

"What? Why? If it's important, I wanna come with. I wanna help."

"Someone needs to stay here and prepare the house." Phil looks at Techno. The two of them are suited up and ready to go. "I found a body in the snow. We need to be careful bringing whoever it is back. Could you build up the fire and set up an area in front of it where we could lay someone down? It'll mean that we can help whoever it is much faster when we get back."

"Yeah. Yeah, I can do that." Tommy understands the gravity of Phil's tone. His expression is set and serious. "When will you guys be back?"

"I don't know. I hope within an hour."

"What do I do if you don't come back?"

Phil is silent for a moment. He's never had the heart to lie, especially to Tommy. "I don't know."

"We need to go." Techno is by the door. "Lying in the snow isn't good for you. We can't leave them there."

Tommy stands. "Please be careful."

"Always," Phil says, and then he and Techno exit the cabin.

The path into the woods is much easier to follow now with the addition of two more sets of footprints. The Angel of Death and The Blood God move slowly through the woods, weapons drawn, senses on high alert. They don't even need to speak to each other to know the way the other moves, to know where the other is looking, to know that they always have each other's back.

The only thing that stands in their path is a single Creeper, and Phil takes it out with a single arrow.

The duo stop just before the right turn, just before they could catch sight of whoever's body lay in the snow.

"Whatever happens. Whoever it is." Phil doesn't have to finish the thought out loud. Techno already knows.

Phil nocks an arrow. Techno white-knuckles the hilt of his sword.

They advance and follow the footprints, now the initial single line, into the denser forest. The bright yellow of the sweater stands out amongst the monotone of the trees. As they get closer Phil banks left and Techno heads right, making a slow circle around the body, surveying every centimeter of their surroundings for any possible threat.

The trees are still. There isn't even wind.

Finally, they approach the body on the ground.

The snow around it is white and nearly unmarred. There's a small mark of firework ash where the footprints stop, the clearest marker of elytra use other than seeing it on someone's body. Nobody on the server has any fucking elytra. 

The sweater and beanie are instantly recognizable as Wilbur's. Phil kneels down and gently pulls the scarf away to reveal their face.

That's recognizable too.

Wilbur.

"Oh my god."

* * *

Tommy has done his very best to do what Phil had asked. He'd stolen all the comforters and pillows off of the beds, and had rooted through chests for spares. He even carried in a couple logs, and he hated doing stuff like that. The fire is crackling, there's a nice blanket nest in front of it, and the cabin is almost uncomfortably warm.

The wind is starting to pick up. Tommy can see it when he peeks out the window. It's only been about fifteen minutes. Phil had said an hour, so Tommy really shouldn't be worrying, but he is. Fear of Dream lurks in the back of his mind. He's alone. No one could save him.

There's no movement outside of the house except for the trees swaying in the wind. It's getting brighter, easier to see. Dream's lime green clothing would be immediately spotted against the bright snow and dark trees.

Tommy thinks back to what Phil had said. He'd found a body in the snow, and it was wearing Wilbur's sweater. That didn't make any sense. Wilbur didn't have a body anymore. That was something everyone had already come to terms with. Whoever it was couldn't be Wilbur.

But what if it was?

Finally, finally, Tommy catches sight of figures emerging from the woods. Phil is in front, constantly looking back at Techno, who is carrying a body in Wilbur's fucking sweater. The bright yellow is so obvious. No one else on the server owns anything like it.

Tommy bounces back from the window and quickly double-checks his work. He'd already tested the blanket nest, and it was comfortable as fuck. The fire is wonderfully warm. He'd done a very good job.

The door opens, and entering along with Phil and Techno is a gust of cold air. 

"Who is it?" Tommy stares intently.

"Wilbur." Phil's face is set and grim. "Techno, set him down."

Techno strides across the room to the fire and gently, gently lays Wilbur into the blankets and pillows. He props Wilbur's head up slightly on one of the pillows and eases off the scarf and beanie.

Nobody has ever been more clearly Wilbur.

"What the fuck," Tommy whispers. He feels frozen, numb. That's fucking Wilbur, looking exactly how he did when he was alive, lying there with a weight that only something living can have.

"I know." Phil is practically ripping off his armor. "Tommy, I know." As soon as the enchanted netherite is off, Phil is beside Wilbur.

Techno is uncharacteristically silent. Even though he's shifted back into his pig-like form, his armor is still on and he's made no motions to take it off. 

Wilbur lies there silently, chest visibly rising and falling. It feels so wrong now, even though less than two months ago Wilbur breathing was something they'd all taken for granted. He looks so healthy and warm and _alive_ , and that's _wrong_.

It's a fucked up thought.

"Should we wake him up?" Phil looks up for approval, eyes slightly unfocused. "Or just let it happen naturally?"

"Could be dangerous." Techno crosses his arms and leans against a wall. "No telling what... I don't even know."

Silence and anxiety clog the air. None of them know what to say or do.

Phil carefully eases Wilbur's boots off and puts them to the side. "Well, he's warm, at least."

Tommy kind of wants to go back to bed. He hates being awake and feeling like he's dreaming.

They sit around in cloying silence, Tommy on his bed, Phil next to Wilbur, Techno busying himself by taking off his armor and working on potions. 

Wilbur lies there, unconscious, alive and breathing. Alive and breathing.

Alive and breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to comment theories!!! i’d love to hear them!!!


	3. cage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO. UH. THAT PLOT HUH. ANYWAYS IGNORING ALL THAT COME HERE FOR THAT GOOD GOOD FAMILY DYNAMIC

When Wilbur wakes up, he wakes up screaming.

It's about midday. Phil hasn't left Wilbur's side. Tommy and Techno have gone off to do their shenanigans in the SMP proper. Wilbur had just been breathing calmly, unconscious, but now he is awake and he is sitting up and he is screaming his lungs out with a voice that sounds like it's been dragged over miles of cobblestones.

"Will!" Phil reaches out and pulls Wilbur over his legs and into his arms. He shifts so his back is against the wall of the cabin, so it's so easy to just let Wilbur's weight fall on top of him. "Will, will, it's okay, I'm here."

Wilbur's hands grab at Phil's robes as his screaming morphs into more of a wail. The sound is long and pained and deep and sends shivers all across Phil's body. It's terrifyingly and unmistakably human.

"I'm right here." Phil doesn't know what else to do other than say comforting words and hold Wilbur tighter than he's ever held him before. "Will, please, listen to me, hear me, I've got you, you're safe. You're safe, Will." He begins to gently rock back and forth. "I've got you. I'm here."

There's a moment where Wilbur takes several deep, shuddering breaths. He's pressing his whole body against Phil's, akin to the way his younger self would so desperately seek out contact in moments of distress. This is far beyond a childhood nightmare, though. This is something much, much deeper than that. This is something Phil has no instincts to deal with.

After the moment has passed, Wilbur starts to sob. It's the quiet, gasping kind, a deep contrast to the sounds he'd just been making.

"Shh, I'm here." Phil rests his forehead against the top of Wilbur's head and rubs one hand up and down Wilbur's back. "I'm here. You're safe. I've got you, Will." The same words, over and over, but they're the only words Phil has.

Wilbur cries for a long, long time. The intensity varies. There are moments where he is wailing, long and loud, and then there are moments where he is nearly silent, taking breaths and letting out little sobs. Phil holds him regardless, murmuring words of comfort even as his voice begins to ache and fray.

At some point, long after Phil has lost track of time passing, Wilbur quiets to deep, shuddering breaths. He's still awake, his eyes are open, but he just breathes. He stays in Phil's arms, head close, given comfort.

"Hi." Wilbur murmurs. His voice is almost gone.

"Hey." Phil speaks so, so gently.

"Um." Wilbur shifts like he's debating on breaking out of their contact. "I d-... I don't... God, I'm so sorry, you've just been so good to me, but I don't know who you are."

Phil's heart drops out of his chest.

* * *

"HELLO, BITCH!" Tommy flings open the door to the cabin and strides in. Techno follows behind, a forcibly exasperated expression hiding one of fondness. 

Tommy's eyes land on the yellow-sweatered form lying in the blanket nest in front of the fire. "Oh shit, sorry, is Wilbur still asleep?"

Phil is still sitting near Wilbur, legs crossed, hat skewed on his head. "He woke up for a bit earlier." He sounds so, so tired. He looks up at Tommy and Techno, defeat on his face. He's absolutely been crying with no effort to clean himself up afterwards, eyes red, tear tracks visible on his face. "But. Um."

"Phil." The first thing Techno does is kneel down in front of his friend. The concern in his voice and on his face is almost overwhelming. "What happened?"

"It's not Will. He sounds like Will, he looks like Will, but..." There's tears in Phil's eyes again. "He doesn't remember anything. He doesn't remember me." He lets them fall. "And I don't know what to do."

Tommy stands by the door, silent. There's nothing he can say that would make the situation better, and there's no way he would want to make it worse. He's never seen Phil cry before.

"You don't sound great." The words sound dismissive, but Techno says them in a tone that show he _cares_.

"I've been crying, of course I don't sound great." Phil tries to quip back, but he just sounds sad.

"You tired?"

"Yeah."

"Come on." Techno stands and holds out a hand. "Get some rest. Tommy and I can watch over Wilbur."

"Are you sure?" Phil takes Techno's assistance in standing up. "What if... Techno, he woke up screaming and crying his lungs out. He didn't calm for _hours_ , and when he did, he pushed me away and told me he didn't know who I was. I... Fuck, I asked him his name and _he couldn't answer me_."

Silence hangs in the air.

"And then he went back to sleep. And then I cried." Phil does not make eye contact. "What did you guys do today?"

Techno laughs once, short, entirely out of surprise. "We, uh, we visited my dogs. Snuck around L'manberg for a bit. Caused a little bit of chaos. You know us."

The dying breaths of sunset light stream in through the window. The tears are still on Phil's cheeks, drying slowly. He hasn't let go of Techno's hand.

"We'll take care of Wilbur if he wakes up." Tommy speaks lowly, seriously. "I can... I can stay awake too. We, me and Techno, we can even sleep in shifts in case he wakes up. And, and Phil, we can always wake you up. If it gets bad. If he needs you."

Phil looks up at Tommy, making the gentlest eye contact. God, Phil looks tired. "Thank you. That means a lot."

"Go to bed, Phil." Techno puts an arm around Phil's shoulder and guides him towards and into his bed. He does not resist, lying down and letting Techno pull the comforter over him.

"We should put our stuff away." Tommy pushes off the wall he's been leaning against. "I certainly don't want to sleep in my armor."

As Tommy and Techno put their things away, moving quietly through the room and chests, Phil begins to quietly snore.

"He is loud," Tommy comments.

"Not as loud as you." Techno hovers around a brewing stand, sorting through ingredients and bottles.

"I do not snore."

"You do." Techno turns from what he's doing and rests a hand on Tommy's shoulder. "You're safe here. Relax."

They'd almost run into Dream earlier.

Tommy sighs and lets his shapeshifting fall away.

He hadn't been holding a form all that different from his base one, but the ability never came as naturally to him as it did to Techno and Phil. It had been exhausting, had been making his shoulders tense, had been taking a toll of his body that was necessary for comfort, and all he'd been doing was covering his scars.

The fading scars from burns and small cuts on his hands and arms. The small, ugly mark on his throat given by an arrow from Dream. The clean slashes on his back, again from Dream, even though nobody could see them. The latter two did not and would not fade with time, forever standing out white and raised against his skin.

"There you go." Techno had shifted back to his pig form on their return through the Nether. Tommy feels a little honored that Techno is comfortable enough to assume that form in front of him, let alone shift while he's even nearby. "You'll need that energy if you're gonna be awake for a while longer."

"Are you gonna sleep?"

"I should get at least a little bit in if we're gonna do shifts." As if to emphasize this, Techno yawns wide. "I've been awake for a couple days."

"Christ." Tommy laughs, but it's not because he finds it funny.

Their silence is undercut by Phil's gentle snores. It's not uncomfortable. They can be quiet with each other, and that's okay.

Techno falls into bed, once again foregoing his blankets and any sense of arranging his limbs. He's asleep in moments. Tommy envies this. 

Tommy leans against the wall closes to Wilbur and slides down it until he's sitting. His hand half-consciously rises to and rubs at the scar on his throat. All of Wilbur's scars - almost everyone's death scars - can be easily hidden under clothing. The only person with more visible ones than him is Tubbo.

He can't help but stare at Wilbur, at his brother, alive and breathing in front of him again, something Tommy never thought could happen.

It's gonna be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorey about the family dynamic. i lied a little. anyways cant believe i came up with the concept of ressurection wiping your memories before it got confirmed in canon


	4. shell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all i know is post update at weird times

At around two in the morning, Wilbur wakes up.

Tommy doesn't notice at first. He's gotten his hands on several bits of string, and has been carefully knotting it into the same style of bracelet over and over for the past two hours. He only looks up at the first significant movement from his brother, which is Wilbur sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

"Hello?" Wilbur speaks quietly, cautiously.

"Hey." Tommy's wariness seeps into his voice.

"Um." Wilbur looks around the cabin with wide eyes. "What's... What's your name?" 

"Tommy. What's yours?"

"I don't know. I... I know I've had one, at some point. But I don't remember." 

"I'm sorry." Tommy has no idea what to say beyond that. Anything he could ever think of saying is stripped of meaning by the fact that Wilbur doesn't remember anything.

Unless he's lying.

"It's alright." Wilbur pulls up one of the blankets around him up over his shoulders. "I'll be upset about it later."

"Oh."

There's too much to be said, so Tommy says nothing. Wilbur sits there, an almost-blank expression on his face, staring around the cabin. His eyes land on Phil, who is soundly asleep. He'd been tossing and turning about an hour ago, enough to knock his comforter onto the floor, but now he lies still. He’s no longer snoring. If Tommy could be honest, his current least favorite thing, he’d admit he misses the sound.

“What did you make?” Wilbur’s eyes had finally found the bracelets lying on the floor. 

“Oh, um, they’re just bracelets. Friendship bracelets is what most people call them. They’re supposed to be multiple colors, that’s what makes them look cool, but I only have the white string right now.” Tommy gathers them into a pile from where he’d haphazardly strewn them around himself. “You... Wilbur taught me how to make these.”

“I’m supposed to be Wilbur, right? Phil called me that.”

Tommy can’t make eye contact. “Yeah, well. You look and sound just like him.”

“The name feels familiar.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It feels like it could be mine. I could call myself Wilbur, if that makes you all more comfortable.”

“No, don’t... If it doesn’t feel right, don’t do it for us.”

"It doesn't feel wrong. Like I said, I... It could be mine? It might be? I just don't... I'm not sure. I'm sorry." 

"No, no, it's okay. Don't apologize." Tommy doesn't know quite how to carry himself. Yeah, the person right in front of him should make him feel like he's with Wilbur, but his... his vibes? Yeah, that's the word, his vibes are all _wrong_ , and it makes Tommy feel like he's around someone completely new, and _that_ always somehow makes Tommy feel awkward and off-balance. It's his most hated feeling. Usually he can overcome it easily with jokes and friendly ribbing, but this is...

This is so different.

This is so new.

This is so uncomfortable.

"Do you want a bracelet?" Tommy picks one of the finished ones up off the pile. The crossing pattern is barely visible, the differing knots slightly raised, more texture than anything else. 

Wilbur stares for a long moment. "Does it mean we are friends?" His voice still carries the lightness of Ghostbur's. It's unnerving. 

"Sure, yeah, we're friends. I don't see why not."

"Okay." Wilbur holds out his wrist.

Tommy scoots across the floor so he's within reach. He ties the bracelet carefully, his shaking fingers brushing against the skin of Wilbur's wrist. He knows exactly how to tie it to make sure that it's tight enough to stay on but loose enough to be slipped off without being stretched out. 

Even after Tommy has withdrawn his hands, Wilbur keeps his arm extended, tilting his head to stare. "Thank you." His words are more of a breath than speech. He pulls his arm back slowly, his other hand moving to wrap around his wrist and cover the bracelet.

"Yeah, I mean, it's, um. It's nothing. I made a bunch. Needed to keep my hands busy. Didn't want to get too lost in my thoughts, y'know." Tommy half-laughs and scratches at the back of his neck. He still can't bring himself to look at Wilbur's face for more than a few seconds at a time.

"Are your thoughts bad?" The question is asked so, so innocently. Wilbur's expression is almost child-like.

"Yeah, yeah, they, um." Tommy laughs again, awkward and breathy. "They suck a lot of the time."

"Why?"

"We've just met essentially for the first time, seeing as you don't remember being Wilbur, and you're asking me why my thoughts are shit? S'a little rude, don't you think?"

"Sorry. I just want to help."

"Well, you're not." Tommy can feel himself getting aggressive, but he can't quite stop it. "Even _thinking_ about talking about it makes me feel like shit. I don't want to fucking talk about my exile."

Wilbur pauses, blinking slowly. He stares at Tommy intensely, like he's searching for something.

Whatever it was, he doesn't find it. Wilbur looks away from Tommy and flops back down into the blanket nest. He stares at the ceiling silently. 

Conversation's over.

Tommy goes back to making bracelets.

* * *

The pre-dawn hours in New L'manburg are always oddly still.

Ranboo sits on the side of one of the pathways, feet swinging just above the water. The gentle lapping of waves against the supports should be calming, and Ranboo is doing his best to feel soothed, but most of his instincts are focused on _water here water close don't go in don't fall pain pain pain_ and it is kinda ruining the moment.

Gentle footsteps sound behind him. Ranboo doesn't have to look to see who sits beside him. There's only one other person in the country who would be awake at this time.

"Hey Tubbo."

"Hiya Ranboo."

"Given up on sleep?"

"Yeah. I can't get myself to feel tired." Tubbo is out of his president's attire, an uncommon sight. He's dressed in an oversized sweater, sweatpants, and mismatched fuzzy socks. Good choice for the windchill. Ranboo is still in his suit, the only difference from his day to day being that his tie is slightly loosened.

"Me either." Ranboo stares up at the stars, at the sky that is on the verge of lightening. "I can't think of anything to do while being awake, though."

"I can't either." Tubbo follows Ranboo's gaze. "We could just sit."

"Yeah. That sounds nice."

The wind whips between the houses and across the streets of the floating country. Ranboo is cold, and Tubbo is shivering slightly, and neither of them move. 

"I miss Tommy." Tubbo confesses. It's a night for thoughts previously unvoiced.

Ranboo sighs. It's not a heavy one, not a damning one, just one of quiet regret. "Me too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> weeps. new l'manberg


	5. lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> added this in the beginning note, but i'll put it here as well! this fic diverges from canon in late december, so tubbo thinks tommy is dead. oops

Hidden away beneath a mountain, in a chamber built at bedrock, Dream assesses his options.

Reviving Wilbur at the time he did had been impulsive, yes, but it was something that needed to be done sooner or later. Leaving him at Techno's was strategic. Wilbur would fare much better after revival around those he knew. Dream is quite possibly the worst person on the server for Wilbur to wake up to, and is also the worst person to handle whatever Wilbur's mental state would be. 

Fuck, Dream doesn't know what the aftereffects of revival even _are_. He's spent countless hours pouring over the pages of that damn book from Schlatt for any detailed information on the subject only to come up short every time. You'd think it would be important information, but no, there's only countless passages on what the afterlife is really like and how to bring someone back from it. There's nothing on what happens when they're alive again.

Maybe it's not important. Maybe all the difficult bits were contained entirely within the revival process. That had been hard. God, that had been _so_ hard. 

Some evils are necessary.

Dream doesn't want to think about it.

He busies himself with a brewing stand, slowly tapping in the gunpowder. Splash weakness potions, an ugly and dishonorable form of combat, but yet another necessary evil. Their only decent use is for healing zombie villagers, but Dream is not a man who sticks to decent uses. He's going to need these when he retrieves Wilbur.

Stealing Wilbur back, he will admit, isn't a plan he's entirely thought through yet. To be fair, that's the case for the majority of his plans, and they've all worked out fine. He prides himself on many things, and his ability to think and strategize on his feet is high on that list. Plans with every step laid out never work, and if Dream tries to keep himself to a pre-conceived layout of how things will go, he won't be able to shift along with what's happening in front of him. 

His strongest asset is his ability to take in and use his surroundings. Why restrict that?

As soon as they're done brewing, Dream stows the potions and heads towards the exit. It's a simple, one block wide water elevator. He presses a button and steps in right after, shooting upwards with riptide-like speeds. Just before he reaches the stone above, a piston moves it out of the way. He lands just beside the hole and watches as the piston moves back into place, stone blending back in with its surroundings. There's a similar contraption hiding the entrance.

Only he knows where this place is. He's thousands of blocks away from any other build on the server.

Unfortunately, to get back to civilization, Dream is going to have to take the long route: Overworld travel. Nether travel is far too risky. Even having a portal nearby would be suspicious. This location needs to be untraceable, unfindable, unknown. 

He's beginning to regret banning elytra.

* * *

Wilbur sleeps by the fire. 

Phil sits on his bed, tome in hand, eyes occasionally glancing from the words to his son. Apparently, Wilbur and Tommy had spoken in the middle of the night, about an hour before Techno had awoken for his brother supervision shift. Everything Tommy had said about it had just made Phil more concerned. The fact that Wilbur had no concrete memories, but said that certain things 'felt right', was both hopeful and worrying. It could be an indicator that full remembrance was not far behind, but everything could also stay in that half-fog state.

Tommy had made five of those bracelets he and Wilbur always liked to, when they were young, when Wilbur was settling into his teenage years and Tommy was cementing a mind of his own. Those were times where their wrists were full of bright, intertwining colors, where there had been pouches full of the things, where the two of them had handed them out to every person they'd had a passing conversation with. Wrists were an unsafe place for Phil to keep his, so they had always been tied tight around his ankles. It was a location that made them prone to wearing and breaking off, given his wardrobe, but it didn't truly matter. The fact that Phil wore them was enough. 

Tommy had tied one around Wilbur's wrist, and left the other four on top of a windowsill.

Any creation of his Phil had has long broken and fallen away.

Phil misses his family's creations.

Normally, with Techno and Tommy gone, Phil would busy himself around and outside the house. Reading was typically reserved for quiet, late hours, but Phil feels like he needs to do this now.

He's already read this particular tome three or four times, giving more and more attention to the text with each pass, but this time feels much different. This time, he's not reading with the hope of reviving his oldest son, but with the knowledge that Wilbur has already been pulled out of the afterlife. It makes each word, each description, each nuance feel unnervingly _different_.

He really wishes he could find a better word. For all his years lived, his vocabulary has never quite been able to match how he feels.

Unfortunately, he can't quite find the information he's looking for. It's the only book he's found that gives a detailed description of how to approach a resurrection ritual, the only one to give the concept more than a few pages of thought. Even then, the wording is ever so subtly unsure, giving away that the author has only ever heard of the procedure and had never seen it in action. It could all be made up, and even then, there's nothing on what to do with the person you've revived.

Phil desperately wants to know how to help. He needs to know how to take care of someone who has just been resurrected.

It seems that nobody has ever done that, or at least bothered to write it down after doing so.

He does his best to keep his frustration from showing itself, does his best to not give in. His least favorite thing about himself is when he lets that type of anger take him over. It makes him violent, it gives him the burning urge to destroy things, it makes him hate himself for what he's said and done after he's calmed down.

The best decision right now is the one Phil takes, which is to close the tome and set it to the side. There's no good reason to let himself get worked up over this. Resurrection is a tricky thing. He's never even heard of a successful ritual, and he's lived a long time. Trying to tear the secrets out of pages that do not contain them is fruitless.

Wilbur turns a little in his sleep, brow furrowing. He'll probably have to be woken up soon, Phil can see the way his lips are cracking. As much as sleep will heal one's body, food and water are just as important. Wilbur can't just sleep forever.

Phil wonders when Tommy and Techno will be back. He does a lot of wondering these days.

The movement is not sudden, but it gives Phil a jolt anyways. Wilbur is minorly shifting in his sleep. It's not to anything specific, just gentle rippling and flowing across his skin, the suggestion of abilities possessed by few. 

Wilbur _hated_ shifting.

Wilbur hated shifting so much he'd studied and trained to ignore the urge, to perfectly hold that base form, to keep himself from even the smallest of instinctual changes. 

Wilbur hated shifting so much he'd learned how to stop it from happening in his sleep.

He rolls onto his side from his back, and Phil is pretty sure he's forgotten how to breathe.

Oh no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry 4 the big chunky paragraphs. i wrote a lot of this sleep deprived so if something doesnt make sense i am sorry


	6. thunderbolts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> canon moves without me. but yet, i persist.
> 
> btw resurrection here works very very differently than in canon. youll find out! :)

Ranboo steps out of his home and looks out at the setting sun.

If he's being honest with himself, which he never truly is, he's running out of things to do. He spends his waking hours stripmining and bedbombing for resources that, at this point, he doesn't truly need. It's mostly just something to keep his hands and mind busy.

He could share, sure, but with who? Who would he feel safe giving resources to, who would need them, and who would even accept the gift? Does he even feel safe giving up his excess? There's always the chance he loses everything outside of his EnderChest. Why risk giving everything away when he could keep his hard-earned materials in there?

Ranboo sure does question himself a lot, doesn't he.

Oh well.

The multiple levels of New L'Manberg splay out before him. If Ranboo's being honest, the stairs and ramps without railings wear heavy on his knees. However, he's not honest when it comes to aspects of himself that could inconvenience others, so his body manages perfectly fine.

He's not in constant pain.

He's lying to himself.

It's a talent.

Ranboo wrenches himself out of his own thoughts quickly enough to give anybody else whiplash.

He sits down on what is essentially his front porch. The path leading up to his door has just enough space on the side for him to sit and dangle his feet over the water below. He's watched it rise from the rainstorms that have come through, the heavy clouds always signaling _today is a day to sit inside and be alone with your thoughts_. The coral that blossomed within had been initially planted by Phil and had grown from there, snaking its way up the supports and adding much-needed color to the single-palette country.

Oh, Phil.

Ranboo so desperately wishes he hadn't fucked up that relationship.

If he's being honest, and god he says that way too much for it to be healthy, he wants to know Phil better, wants to fix that unavoidable rift, but.

Phil is gone. And judging from the way Phil had spoken to Fundy on the day they'd burst into his house and stolen his things and _killed his friend_ , Phil would not be forgiving. He would not be kind.

Most people are not kind to Ranboo, though, so it wouldn't be much of a loss anyways.

There's a figure entering New L'Manburg.

Sunrays streak across the landscape and illuminate Karl's brightly-colored, almost-clashing hoodie. He spots Ranboo and waves. Ranboo happily waves back.

Karl takes the stairs two at a time and half-runs up to Ranboo, smiling widely. There's something... off, in his expression. Something that isn't something usually seen on Karl's face, something that takes Ranboo a few seconds to identify.

Karl is worried, very worried, and he's doing his best to hide it. His best is pretty good, actually. Ranboo's very lucky to catch it, and he only really does because reading what people are hiding is a skill he's developed for reasons lost to his own mind.

"Hey Ranboo!"

"Hey Karl." Ranboo stays sitting. Best not to tower right now.

"Um, have you seen Sapnap around?" 

"No, not really. I don't really, um, exist in the same places he does."

"Oh, yeah, I should have thought of that." Karl's laugh is half-strained. His hands have been shoved deep into the pocket of his hoodie.

"No worries." Ranboo tilts his head. "Is anything wrong?"

"He's just, um." The facade is starting to crack. "He's been missing for three days, which is weird. I messaged him, I left a note at his house, everything."

"Oh no."

"Quackity can't contact him either, neither can George, and I haven't really seen Dream around either but that's expected for him..."

"Uh, that's not good..."

"It isn't."

"I... I can't really think of anyone else who might've seen him, sorry."

"It's okay." Karl brings his right hand out of his pocket and up to his mouth. He bites down on the knuckle of his index finger, and then speaks around it. "Thank you."

"You're welcome man. I hope he turns up."

Karl nods once, short, and then turns and walks away.

Ranboo watches him leave.

Sapnap? _Missing?_ Not even his fiance's can get in contact with him?

Wuh-oh.

* * *

In the dead of night, Wilbur dreams.

The dream is not a nice one. It is one of deep darkness, of hollowing light, of hands reaching into the too-bright void and grabbing him by his shirt and a green-colored voice speaking into his soul and saying "I do not care that it was your time."

He had fought, of course he had. There was a reason he was dead, was a reason he had begged to die. But still, that hand had pulled up, had pulled on his very being, had pressed life - three lives - deep into his chest.

Wilbur dreams of the few, fleeting moments he'd had upon resurrection. A figure looking down at him, bloody hands cradling his face.

"We have much work to do." The green-colored voice says. "But first, you'll have to rest." The figure above him morphs, a smile stretching too-wide across his face, across the ceiling, across the sky. "I'll pull your memories out of you later."

He falls deep, deep into unconsciousness in the dream, the nightmare. There are no memories clouding his mind. He's all alone in his own head, thoughts echoing around in an empty skull.

The smile is burned into his head, into his brain.

His memories have already been pulled from him. They live at the edge of a long, long rope, a space where the bright void fades into the dark one.

Wilbur grabs the rope and begins to pull his body along. There are knots spaced apart from each other, and each time he reaches one, he feels the urge to _keep going, keep going_.

The simple smile shatters the sky, and the green-colored voice sings an endless song in his ears, and he hauls his body into the creeping, dreaming darkness.

He wakes up disoriented, still in that blanket nest, eyes turned to the ceiling.

There's the soft chatter of now-familiar voices. He hears Phil laugh, Tommy give a joking disagreement, Techno raise a light-hearted point.

Wilbur lets himself rest in their voices, in the feeling of home they bring, and contents himself with the fact that even though he still has nothing concrete, at least he now remembers their names.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *points at karl* and You get my anxious biting!

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! comments are greatly appreciated, even if they are just <3 !!


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